


Fated For Eternity

by SoHereWeAre



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate OOC Universe - Vampirism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Sharing, Blood and Violence, Brother/Sister Incest, Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, Character Death, Character Turned Into Vampire, Completely AU, Cunnilingus, Dubious Morality, F/F, F/M, GoT universe, Incest, Mildly Dubious Consent, Modern Era, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, OOC, Oral Sex, Red Wedding, Resistance, Revenge, Robb lives after he dies, Sibling Incest, Tropes, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, overused vampire themes, vampire soul mates, vampire trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoHereWeAre/pseuds/SoHereWeAre
Summary: Robb is saved from certain death from the Red Wedding by his sister Sansa, yet the rescue presents another kind of cruel fate.Warning: Contains incest and violence.Characters are aged up for fic purposes. Sansa at 17, Robb 20.**Marking as complete. Currently I do not have the desire to progress on this one. Never say never, but this was intended as a one-shot only with the first chapter. Thanks!**





	1. Transition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to sansafeels for this lovely GIF board for this fic found on Tumblr!
> 
> <https://gayforsansastark.tumblr.com/post/174873404847/fated-for-eternity-by-sohereweare1>

_The fall was nothing_.

Nothing was the cold floor beneath him, the arrow in his arm and the one piercing his shoulder. The pain seared in his chest, concentrated near his heart. Too near yet not near enough. Through dimming eyes he attempted to survey the carnage starting around him but his mind would not process it. His bannermen ambushed, his mother somewhere in the chaos, Walder Frey peering down from his perch in satisfied glee. Hatred and anger would have flooded him but the pain eclipsed all emotion.

The scuffling and element of surprise was interrupted by a crashing noise, the doors. The bolted doors were no longer secured and Robb strained to turn, tried to roll onto his belly to pull himself up but the arrows prevented it. Screams of fear replacing the shock and surprise filled the room. True and absolute terror followed by choking, gurgling, but Robb couldn't see. He was dying, helpless on the floor. He needed to help, he needed to reach his mother but a fog surrounded him and clouded his vision.

_Up. Up_ , he screamed at his body. He needed to flee, he needed to find his mother. His eyes squinted to peer through the haze and spotted a figure. Streams of red wavered beyond the veil. Red, hair. Mother. She was alive, obscure from across the room. She was gliding towards him or was she running so quickly she was a blur?

Through sheer will he stumbled to his feet, wavering. Through the haze to his left he saw him, the betrayer Roose, approaching. Robb knew his death in the older man's face. He opened his mouth to attempt some words of defiance but nothing emitted from his throat as he braced himself for the kill. Yet Roose froze, dagger in hand and Robb dropped to his knees. He did not need a death-blow. Death was looming close enough and his breath became shallow. Had it not been for arms wrapping around him he would have fallen back to the floor and let the stone swallow him up as he ceased to exist. Gentle, strong arms with a scent of lavender and death assaulting his nose. The sweetest scent mixed with doom. _Sansa_. Death. Red draped his face, soft as silk and he recalls a girl laughing, full of life and dreaming of a love from a handsome prince as she twirled a blue rose in her delicate hand.

As if floating on air he allowed himself to be carried. It felt more like skimming and drifting as his feet never touched the ground. Was he being led to safety? There was no safety to be had in The Twins now. Was he in the hands of the enemy or his bannermen? He wanted to struggle, to see, but all he could make out was the thickening grey fog. Fog in the castle but through the bland there were splinters of light, of auburn love and soft blue happiness. So long since he felt truly happy, truly at home. He would never see home again. Nor would he lay eyes on his little, beautiful sister, who laid pining away in a lion's den.

Down, down he laid on a bed of the softest making. Yet it could have been the stone floor for all it mattered. He knew he was dying. His chest was numbing, his appendages no longer a part of him. Too weak to move, he saved his remaining energy to breathe shallow breaths. Tapers suddenly alighted around him and the fog lifted, revealing a shadow hovering above him, over him, something strange yet so familiar. It was the smell, it was a woman above him, not his mother. His sister. He was truly so far gone he was imagining her in his last moments and she was here to take him home. His heart ached from regret and bitterness and failure. He would have reached out for it but he could no longer feel. No longer thinking, his mind was slipping into the eternal sleep of death and he could hear a soothing voice, sensual and desperate, calling to him. Sansa's voice now as a lady flowered, lulling him to peace, and he gave himself over. Willing to die and let it all be done.

The pierce to his neck was sharp, a contrast to the dull ache of the arrows and he would have cried out had he not been wavering on the edge of death. The lethargy of fading became agony. Tendrils of flame cascaded around him and he realized his death was being hastened with pain. Yet a new sensation overwhelmed him, one of an eager surrender as a hand caressed his cheek, scraping his beard, moving down to trace patterns of heat below his chin. Wet, wet was tricking down the side of his neck onto the sheets but he didn't care. He only knew that he was being carried into the beyond, and as the life ebbed from him he surrendered to it, feeling soft lips ghosting around the stabbing, sweetness hiding the hurt.

He opened his mouth in a last attempt to speak but was met with cool flesh. Creamy skin streaming warm liquid into his mouth that tasted of rust and fire. Robb choked, finding it in him to struggle weakly, too weakly; he could not even turn his head away as he sputtered on the offending drink, coughing. The smell was overpowering and his stomach churned but the flow was relentless, an arm forcing him down all the harder, a hand clamping his jaw so he had no other choice but to swallow. Down, down it travelled; it burned in his throat and chest but he no longer cared as his lips grew slack. Somewhere in the distance he could hear breathing, rapid and arousing and then the tiniest of moans. Pleasure. _Was there pleasure in dying_ ? The potion was too late, whatever the attempt was to save him it was too late as he finally drew his last breath, welcoming the nothingness and dark with his sister's name on his lips. _Sansa, Sansa, forgive me. I failed. I failed you all_.

Pain like lighting jolted and burned as Robb felt the pull of wood from his arm. He opened his mouth to scream but it was soundless, followed by another silent shout as his shoulder burned in tune, then the worst fire of all, the arrow pulled from above his heart. They did not slowly leave his body, nor was it delicate by any means, and the clanking of them being thrown to the floor was deafening. He tried to open his eyes to focus through the dark and realized his eyes were already open but he could see nothing, only acutely feel as his black clothing and cape were torn away along with his smallclothes. Naked, he was naked and vulnerable in the castle of his betrayer. He wanted to fear, to panic, but no emotion came, only a low roaring through his brain as his blood coursed through him as hot as fire. It was all he knew; an exquisite pain inside of him that replaced his wounds. He no longer felt the injury to his body but he sensed the wetness, the suction over his arrow holes. Something wet and warm was pressing into his opened, bleeding gashes and he moaned not in agony but in unexpected pleasure. He must be dreaming but the blood racing to his nether region seemed all too real as he bucked upward and discovered he could move his arms again as his cock also sprang to life.

His hands flew to his chest and he grasped, furtively at first, feeling a curtain of satin flowing dripping through his fingers before a cooling sensation swept over him. Fingertips slid easily out of tangles to skim over his chest, feeling his skin there, pulled taut with tension. There was no wound above his heart, nor his shoulder or arm. His flesh was dry to the touch save for tiny droplets of moisture. Saliva. How could he identify the foreign substance without seeing, without knowing? _Yet he knew_.

Robb's lips parted in question while touching his neck. No indentations, only slick was felt under his fingertips and he wanted to ask why, wanted to demand what they were doing to him but lips pressed against his, feather light yet bruising. Panic started to pool within his stomach and yet it ebbed into a stream of submissiveness when he was pulled up into a sitting position, wrapped in a silken embrace that threatened to suffocate him. The need to escape dissipated with a burgeoning need for something he could not quite comprehend, something he did not know he was reaching for until he could smell it. Repulsive and distasteful as it was, it hardened his whole body and his mouth opened of its own accord. 

It was as if little daggers tore through his gums and he fell back against the pillows, groaning in shock and pain. He neared a scream and arched his back to push up but he was shoved down, that divine silk once again sweeping over his chest, his face while a lullaby of whispering shushes poured molten into his ears. Soft, cool, sensual hands caressed him obscenely; they seared and teased, painting his senses with lust and need and helplessness and maybe he would have begged shamelessly for more before soft lips captured his dry ones, licking and kissing them to moisture, nipping and biting with a promise so enticing he almost forgot the pain. Never had he been kissed like this before, never had he felt a tongue flick inside of his mouth to caress his teeth - 

Robb pulled away as that tongue licked teeth that seemed too sharp, too deep, too long. Long, far too long. Resistance only lasted a moment or two as arms once again gathered him and he could feel her now, this woman's body straddling him, overwhelming him, taking him. Breasts pushing hardened nipples to his chest as strong, long limbs held him in place, tanged lush hair ticking his senses. He could do nothing but gasp at the feel of his cock being swallowed in a tight, wet, constricting well. Gyrating, pushing, taking him to heights while he remained seated, passive, shaking. Hands weaving in his hair, pressing his head into a neck so wet and sweet; an entreaty to taste, to drink passing through his head as if it were a fleeting thought.

Not of his own volition - or maybe it was - his jaw dropped as his mouth watered, teeth bared for a moment to the air surrounding him before sinking, puncturing the permeating flesh, bring forth a nectar he had never tasted before. The sweetest warm wine sent flashes of lightning through his teeth as the current raced down the back of his throat. His full, kiss-sensitive lips clamped down on skin, this offering to him that spread like wildfire through his body, giving him renewed strength and assurance. His arms were steel now, gripping delicate shoulders to him, crushing this sinewy body. His cock engorged beyond what he was, stretching his lover, filling her, touching her barrier and beyond and he heard her cry out. He could not decipher if it was pleasure or pain but dimly he did not care. All that mattered was the warmth coursing through his veins as he sank even more fierce until he could feel her vein clinging around his teeth, easing the strain of sucking into his desperate mouth as much as it could hold. Life, strength, power flowed as heavy as the blood. 

Hips pushed into him and he was aware again of being fucked. He clutched her to him, his face still buried into her neck, as deep in her throat as his cock was inside of her. He wanted to devour her and absorb her into his being. Anger and lust clouded his mind when he felt hands tearing at his hair to pull him away from his drink. He wanted more. He was not finished and he resented the loss of warmth from his lips but hers replaced the void quickly.

 _He wanted more_.

He bit into her lip to taste a smattering of blood but it was a tease. Not enough. The need coiled in his belly like an inferno and it could not be denied. He did not want to deny it. Needy and craving he sucked, greedy for what meager sustenance he could take and soon she returned the gesture, biting and licking what bled forth from the wound. It brought a moan so breathy and primal from her that his other desire heightened; the desire to fuck her into oblivion and perhaps even into the world beyond if he was already not there.

Frantic now, he flipped her over to her back so quickly it didn't seem as if he really did it but he felt her underneath him, her cunt contracting in rapid time. He sought her neck but she cut him off with her mouth and he accepted it as a consolation prize. There was no tenderness in him, no thought but of fucking away this sharp hunger as he slammed into her, exalting in his newfound vigor. She writhed and moaned, this enticing wraith clinging to him like vines around an ancient tree. She pulled him into her and they melded, the sting from her nails scraping deep into his back. No scratches there. Flesh sloughed off in strips and he could feel the open gashes flowing freely of blood but he cared not. Only her shrieks and his shouts of climax were what mattered as he came in thunderbolts of ecstasy and white light behind his blind eyes. He exploded with his release but felt nothing emptying into her womb and knew nothing of a racing heart. Even his vocal affirmation seemed airless. Yet something seeped from the corners of his eyes, thick and sticky and smelling of rust. It made no difference as the dark overtook not just his eyes but his body and carried him into the void once again.

Wait.

It wasn't dark anymore. It was no longer nothing.

Clouds.

Fog, mist. His eyes held the fog that had filled the Hall when the massacre began.

Robb felt perspiration along his hairline as he struggled to sit up, squinting. It was deathly quiet and he wondered if he had been dreaming all along. He could see now, if one could call it seeing. It was like a heavy film was cast over his eyes and he blinked.

The sweat started rolling off of him as he peered around the room. It looked like the Lord's chambers, but why would he be in Walder Frey's room? Dimly he could make out a cracking fireplace and a few tapers lit here and there. No guards. No bannermen. No Walder standing over him.

 _Mother_.

He needed to know if his mother was still alive and if so, where was she? Where was anyone? It came back to him, the surprise ambush and then something else. It seemed so far away but he knew it just happened. The fog, the confusion, the screams and sounds of flesh tearing. Roose coming at him with a dagger to finish him off.

 _Roose.The Betrayer_.

Naked and dazed, he struggled out of the bed only to fall to the floor on his knees, shivering. A fever. The flush crept up his neck behind his ears, burning. Lips dry. 

_Thirst_. 

A rustling of damask assaulted his ears before he was lifted up with small but strong hands and he attempted to focus on his guide. He could see her hair flowing around her dark gown but could not make out her face. He could nearly taste her scent, though, and it was familiar. For a moment he thought it was Mother and he waited for relief to flood him but he could say or feel nothing.

 _He could smell something else_.

He now thirsted beyond all care and thought.

Stumbling, Robb allowed himself to be pulled closer to his destination. A form, a man, sitting formally in a high-backed chair. His eyesight was increasing with every blink and the cloudy mist floated away, but his fever increased and he nearly passed out at the sight.

Roose Bolton.

His would-be assassin sat motionless in the red chair, staring at him. Cold, piercing eyes that now held fear. His tunic was ripped open, exposing not just his chest but his neck as well. 

_His bleeding neck_.

Not knowing how he got there, Robb sank his teeth into Roose's neck, jerking his head to the side so hard he could hear a crack. The man was not dead, no, the tough Lord Bolton and failed Kingslayer was still very much alive as Robb could hear his heartbeat madly racing as his blood pumped wildly through his veins. Anger, hate, revenge, and pleasure dominated Robb's every swallow, every drink of the traitor's blood as he yanked the older man from the chair to the floor, never letting his mouth release from the jugular. Roose's only fight came in the form of tension through his body; he was like a fly paralyzed by a spider's venom. Robb's vision suddenly returned tenfold and he lifted up from his feast to stare at the stunned man's icy blue eyes. No expression save for a docile acceptance and a gaping mouth, as if he meant to speak a word to him. 

A hand wrapped around his throat, guiding him back to Roose's neck and he obediently returned to take his fill. It was different than before; it was revitalizing but not as exhilarating. Not until he felt the mouth on his back, the sensual, wet mouth sucking and licking the blood from his back while sharp-nailed fingertips traced over the wounds they inflicted that had already healed. _Finish him_ , the voice inside his head whispered. _He will know pain for what he has done before his death_.

The sensuous lapping on his back coupled with the fiery sustenance of the blood of his ally-turned-enemy inflamed Robb as he drained Roose until his heartbeat slowed. He raised his head to look one last time at the face of his prey before sinking back in to rip out half his neck, his hands reaching up to snap and twist what was left of it completely off from his shoulders. The tearing and soft thud of the head hitting the floor ignited something in him as he spat out flesh and veins and bone. He felt the warmth of dark blood running from his mouth as he turned to grab her, not even seeing her, smashing his mouth against hers, kissing with fangs bared. There was no hesitation as she reciprocated, licking up and swallowing what she could from his kill. He wanted her. His body was alive and humming and he wanted to fuck her into the wood floor. His cock was already straining and the blood raced through his veins like wildfire.

She pushed him away from her and left him at arm's length. 

Stunned, he froze, the realization striking him, yet for some reason he could not let his mind connect to his feelings. All he knew is he wanted her. He didn't give a damn who she was as long as she could ease his burning. As if she could read his thoughts, she reached out to clasp his hand in hers, bringing it to her lips to lick blood splatters from his fingertips while her mouth turned upwards.

Her sweet smile, obscenely innocent smeared with his blood and the blood of Roose Bolton, expanded into a wolfish grin, exposing two sharp fangs. It was her eyes that captivated him, horrified him, excited him with a perverse lust that reflected back into him. They were of the deepest blue, void of pupils, rimmed in dark red, almost black.

"I've missed you, brother."


	2. Along The Cobblestone Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely moodboard by twisty88...thank you! :)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/165748359@N03/43868615511/in/dateposted-public/)

The snowflakes floated down, down into his hair and melted as he embraced her. Even underneath her furred cloak she felt so slight, so small and fragile. He meant to murmur some words of encouragement even as his heart felt hollow, wrenched. He could not believe she was leaving him and it didn't feel quite real as they made their way from the godswood where she said her last goodbye to the weirwood tree. He clasped her pale hand in his and it was cold. He puzzled at that; she was as much of the North as he and the cold never bothered her. 

For a moment she broke her hold and sauntered forward and he followed for a second, his gaze fixated on her long auburn locks and the white flakes turning clear and then to liquid, dampening her hair to a darker shade. His feet plodded along and felt even more heavy than his heart and suddenly he tripped - he, who was always so graceful in movements and was Sansa's sometimes unwilling dance partner because of it - and he was down on the cold ground, the impact searing pain throughout his entire body. He was aware of Sansa running back to him, sitting down on the ground with him, whispering words of concern because that was Sansa. She cradled his head in her lap; his head that seemed to burn from the fall. Ache, it was all an ache, and yet when her iced fingers soothingly ran through this curly locks, he felt at peace. All was right in the world because his sister was here. Not for long, though. Not for long. The pain returned, knowing he was losing her forever. Losing her to the South, to a southern prince and a royal palace. Still, he could at least take comfort in this last touch, this last offer of endearment, this last time of informality. He tried to look up into her face but saw nothing. Nothing but a shroud of fog above him, maybe it was the snow falling harder, and he strained to see. All he could decipher was her eyes, her eyes not the startling and emotional sapphire he was so used to but dark, rimmed in red. He wanted to speak, to reach up to her but an inexplicable terror ripped through him as her mouth emerged from the mist, open and red. And hungry -

"Is he ever going to wake up? I don't believe even I was this hard to rouse."

Robb groggily emerged from his dream, stirring at the vaguely familiar voice. Deft fingers stroked through his hair and he moaned a little, aware his head was in a lap. A sudden jolt wobbled his legs, scrunched up with his boots up against a wall of sorts. Wood. Moving. He was moving; not his body but the walls. His eyes opened first to the ceiling but a woman loomed over him, her face as pretty as the day he had to let her go, her fingers still as cold. Her eyes were the same Tully blue like his own and her smile was still a comfort.

"Sansa." His voice cracked, hoarse. He was aware of dryness in his throat. "Sister? Is it -"

"Shh, yes, Robb, it's me." Another jolt hit and she grasped onto him. "Asha! tell your man to slow the horses!"

"What does it matter to us? You are the one who wants to reach Riverrun in haste and my sister is doing just that. A bumpy ride is to be expected."

Robb's head ached but he turned in Sansa's lap to stare across from him. Immediately he wanted to bolt to strangle the man where he sat next to his own sibling but strong arms held him fast. 

"Robb, no. Robb, please -"

Without wanting to, Robb relaxed even as his hands grappled for anything to help pull himself up. Cool hands found his instead and he calmed.

"Theon." He tried to growl or rage but her hands seemed to prevent it. "Traitor."

"Your brothers are not dead, so spare me the indignation. Winterfell still stands under Bolton rule but we will remedy that soon enough. First we must babysit you like the infant you are. You should readily forgive me since I did just save your life. Well, me and your lovely sister as well as mine."

"Give the weak little pup a minute, brother. He will have a lot to process and you aren't helping the matter."

Theon quieted, something Robb never knew him to do. Theon, the turncoat, the traitor, a man he thought of as a brother was never one to back down from a conversation. Dark-haired, handsome, cocky Theon Greyjoy taking an order from his less attractive dark-haired sister. One he barely knew from his years in the Stark household. Robb recalled receiving information about Asha refusing to give soldiers to Theon to hold Winterfell. Now the Boltons held it? Roose. Roose was dead. Roose's blood tasted so sweet in his mouth -

"Gods!" He flailed helplessly as horses whinnied and he swore he heard birds chirping in the passing trees. "What - what -"

"Stay calm, Robb. All will be explained in time. You need to rest."

"Yes, Robb, listen to your sister, like your brother Theon does with his." Asha's rough, low voice held a smirk to match her face. "You will find it more pleasant that way. Theon, who am I?"

"Asha."

"No, I am not Asha now." She reached down to unlace her breeches. Robb had heard Asha preferred to dress as a man and here she was. Yet she was no man, with swelling breasts and curvy hips, her dark hair wound up in knots around her head. He could only stare in disbelief as Theon disregarded the presence of him and Sansa as he snaked a hand into Asha's pants without hesitation and started rubbing. With Asha's sprawling of legs and gyrating of hips, there was no mistaking what was happening. 

"Esgrid." Theon's lust-filled mutterings were lost into the curve of his sister's neck. 

"Mmm. That's right." Her darkened eyes never left Robb and he turned his face to look up at his sister, trying to ignore the breathing and movement from the other side of the caravan. Sansa's mouth was slack and he felt her hands tighten around him but she dragged her eyes from the Greyjoys to stare down at him.

"Robb. There is so much to tell you but I am not sure where to begin. Asha is the one who rescued Theon from Ramsay Bolton. They knew of the plan at Uncle Edmure's wedding to kill you. I was able to join them but we were almost too late -"

"You were all the way in King's Landing. How could you escape the Lannisters?"

Asha peaked quickly and her unladylike shrieks filled their enclosure. It seemed it was not over as her breathing became heavy and her pleasured moans returned as Theon's hand went deeper, faster. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Theon moving his whole body in closer before the sounds of tearing skin and sucking assaulted his ears. He wondered if he could mercifully pass out again but his loins felt warm and restless. 

"I had some help. Someone took pity on me and helped me to flee."

"And why is no one searching for you? Why - is there anyone after us? Mother, Grey Wind -"

"We could not save Mother and Grey Wind in time. I am so sorry, Robb." Her lack of emotion contrasted against Asha's vocal orgasm and Theon's curses. _Sansa was vocal when she peaked, but in a feminine way. It has been music to his ears_ -

"Walder will want revenge." It was odd how his direwolf and his mother's demise evoked no feelings of grief, neither from him or from Sansa. 

"What we left of the Freys think they have killed you. They think someone else is you, even as they cut the man's head off and replaced it with Grey Wind's. They do not know that is not you. The three of us made sure of that. They hail their victory and desecrate what they think is your body. We will have our revenge, brother." Her voice was nearly monotone, lifeless.

"How did you escape King's Landing?" He had to know. The whole country would be looking for her. "Tell me."

"Sandor Clegane. He helped me."

"The Hound?" Something sparked in him, sharp and hateful. "Joff''s lapdog?"

"He hates him as much as you or I. Sometimes I think he did what he did more out of spite to the Lannisters than any care for me."

"And the Hound - where is he now?"

"I do not know, brother. The last I have heard he was spotted with someone matching Arya's description."

"Arya!" Robb sat up at that, his heart pounding. It felt odd. "Our sister is alive?"

"We cannot concern ourselves with Arya or our brothers just yet. We need to get you strong. A strong you is worth a hundred soldiers."

Robb glanced over at Asha and Theon. The sexual heat was still thick in the air but Asha was lacing up her breeches as Theon licked excess blood off of her neck. Shocking most of all was Sansa had not been embarrassed or shy about any of it. The Sansa he knew would have been shrinking back in shame and ladylike indignation.

"Speaking of which, there is a village up ahead." Asha opened up the side flap, exposing them to the night air. It felt invigorating. "You up there! Stop ahead. Do not get too close to any building."  
The caravan slowed for a few minutes before coming to a complete stop. Robb was thankful for it, as he was tired of listening to the clopping of hooves on the cobblestone road.

"Asha, Theon, you know what to do. I will follow you shortly with Robb."

"Time for some fun." Theon grinned, reaching over to grab Asha by her arm and pull her into a sloppy wet kiss - Rob could hear the saliva smacking up against their lips - before she shoved him from her to open the caravan door.

"Compel all but only feed on one. We do not have time for games," Sana instructed as they hurried out.

Feed.

Roose. Roose's blood warm in his mouth. Sansa. Her blood like liquid lemoncakes. Sansa's cunt, so inviting and warm. His sister. He fucked his sister like he never fucked Jeyne. Jeyne, his wife. His obligation. They were killing him. They had killed him and it was Sansa who saved him. She healed him and fed on him and fucked him. And he let her. He wanted her to. He wanted her with a fierceness he never experienced with any other woman before and he wanted to take her again. An abomination against the Old Gods and against their family.

"Oh gods!" Robb wanted to vomit but his stomach was empty and the actual will was not there anyway.

"Robb. I know this will sound unbelievable, but you need to trust me. You're not - well, you are not you anymore. You are something more, something greater. Parts of you are still there, yes, but you are a different person -"

"I am not a person. I am a - a thing. Something from nightmares and evil bedtime stories." He cringed from her outstretched hand, even as he craved her. "You should have let me die."

"No! Never." She grasped his hand and held it to her breast; through the thick damask of her gown he could feel her heartbeat. It was racing. "We live, Robb, for a reason. I could not let you die and I saved you the only way I knew how. I cannot do this alone, brother. I need you."

"This cannot be true." Robb was frantic, trying to fight the urge rising in him to crush her to him and take her. "I cannot let this be true."

"Robb." Her hand tightened on his. She was stronger. It was impossible. "Look at me."

He did as she commanded and looked into her eyes. Instantly the blue expanded like an ink blot spreading on parchment, red rimming the edges. Her mouth opened to expose lengthening fangs, pearly white and pointed. Veins in her face became prominent but he still thought her beautiful. 

"This is the only truth I know. I have been given a gift beyond compare and I shared it with you and no other."

"Asha. Theon -"

"Asha turned Theon when rescuing him from Winterfell. He was so far gone in his mind that he was refusing to leave with her. She did the only thing she could after she compelled him to follow her out. She gave him life in a different way, Robb. With her gift all of his wounds healed. Body parts that Ramsay had taken from him regenerated. He is a whole man again thanks to his sister and he shows his gratitude for it. I saved you from death and you tell me I should have let you die?"

"I know what you are, what they are. Old Nan used to tell stories to me when I was old enough. About monsters masquerading as men who fed on the blood of their people. They stalked the night because the day was the only thing they feared. I thought they were another one of her fabrications, like the Others." 

"We are not monsters, Robb. We still have beating hearts. We still feel. It's just that we feel differently."

"I feel nothing. I know mother and Grey Wind are dead and I feel nothing."

"Sorrow is an emotion that I find has been very muted." Sansa sighed, bringing his hand to her lips. "I've been told it happens. Some feelings are heightened, some are lessened." 

As if to prove her point, she skimmed her fangs over his wrist and even as he blanched his whole body ran hot while the sharp points felt like daggers without piercing. He had a vision of tearing her gown to shreds and entering her right here on the bench in the caravan while tearing through the soft skin on her thighs to drink of her blood. 

"You are like me," she whispered almost seductively before wrapping her lips over her fangs to kiss his just below his palm."Lust and desire and love are heightened, aren't they?"

He shook in spite of himself.

"Did you lust for Sandor? Did you fuck him as well?" He meant to say it forcefully but it came out as a pathetic plea, like a desperate lover.

"I lusted for him but he did not take me. I do not know why. It was easily seen how much he wanted to," she stated with detachment. 

Her words inflamed him and he wrenched his hand free only to grab her neck to pull her in for a kiss; but before he could reach her lips he fell backwards, shaking and dizzy. It felt as if the whole caravan was spinning.

"You need to feed, brother. You are weak still." 

Robb opened his mouth to protest but found he could not. All he could do was meekly submit to his sister who was terribly strong and fast, and it was in a literal blink of his eye that she had him at a village home doorstep. Asha invited them in the poorly constructed cottage and Theon was laughing, standing with a girl in his arms, his mouth dripping blood as Asha chided him for being a messy drinker, to which Theon replied he liked to drink how he liked his fucks. He threw the hapless girl into Robb's arms and he caught her, stumbling with the woman down to the wood floor. She had not been taken yet and she looked up at him with big, vacant brown eyes, her long chestnut hair falling back to expose her pale neck. Her slight body didn't even tremble as he held her. She looked familiar. 

"Here, let me help you, brother."

Sansa knelt down, her long hair covering her face as she ripped into the girl's throat, swallowing the small chunk of flesh and blood before sighing and retreating to feed on another villager that the Greyjoys had waiting. Robb wondered jealously if it was a man or woman but with the blood flowing freely in front of him he had little thought as his fangs emerged and he sank in without hesitation. The blood wasn't as enticing as Sansa's had been but it was as satisfying as Roose's. Robb drank, relishing the warmth flowing down his throat and through his veins. The woman only spasmed briefly but Robb heard her heart racing as fast as a rabbit's before it started slowing. He was draining her but he didn't care. All he cared about was the rush, the sense of power and elation. It was a climax without actually peaking -

Panting, he tore away from his victim to gasp for breath, not letting any remnant go to waste as he licked around the corners of his mouth. Did he still really breathe? Was his heartbeat truly a heartbeat?

For a moment he glanced down at his feast. There was no doubt in his mind he had killed her. He felt a pang then, looking into her glassy brown eyes. Doe eyes, with brown hair and so delicate. 

Jeyne.

She looked like his Jeyne.

His wife was at The Crag. No doubt she would receive news of his death from her Lannister-loving mother. She would be heartbroken, sad, scared and alone. He had to tell her he was alive. He had to see her, take her to Riverrun with them. From there he could regroup, notify his bannermen he was still alive, and gather the soldiers to set upon enacting his vengeance.

His eyes darted over to Sansa, who had taken her victim to the other side of the cottage; some older woman he noted with relief. Asha and Theon were already outside. Robb gently laid his girl down, folding her arms on top of her chest before stumbling out the door, his shaky gait morphing into a brisk, confident walk as his eyes darted around the tiny village. He spotted a horse tethered to a post and ran full speed to untie it and jump on, urging it to bolt at a breakneck speed.

Jeyne. 

He needed to reach Jeyne, even as the twisted craving for his sister beckoned.


	3. Gift Of Light And Blood

Sansa knew exactly where her brother was heading. She ignored the loud complaints of Asha and Theon as the three of them made their way to the Crag, abandoning the caravan in favor of riding the villager's strongest horses. The night was still in its infancy and they would have no trouble reaching the dilapidated old castle before the sunrise. She knew Asha was furious at the change in their plans but she was not going to let Robb have a reunion with his Lannister-loving in-laws. Theon and Asha seemed to temporarily forget "Robb" was dead back in the Twins, his body mutilated and no doubt tossed in the river along with their mother. News of his demise would travel quickly and it was to their advantage that everyone thought him dead. She did not know how soon ravens would reach the Crag but she knew there was no time to waste. Robb was their winning hand.

She tried to hone in on their connection but it was hard to focus while riding full force through the night and her abilities were still being learned and perfected. The cool air whipped through her cloak as if she were naked; it sent a chills through her which dissipated immediately before whipping through her again. She wasn't invincible to sensations as a vampire; she felt cold, heat, pain, pleasure and every experience was heightened. She could still shiver at the weather even if she could never die from it. Sighing in frustration, she urged her mount to run faster, her sharp eyesight warily scanning for wanderers as they raced against time as worry pricked behind her eyes.

Robb knew nothing of his condition; not what it meant, not what he could and could not do. Now like an impetuous fool he was off to see his simpering, bland little Jeyne, the cause of him abandoning his sister to an uncertain fate in King's Lading and nearly getting himself killed while losing the support of half his banner men. He had forgotten about her. His lonely, scared sister, a political prisoner of a cruel king and his calculating mother. Her own brother, the older brother she had adored and looked up to, the brother she loved and hugged and cried for, prayed for, did not care enough to attempt to save her.

There was one man who did save her.

Not swarmy Baelish, not the Imp who was set to marry her, not Stannis who was Robert's rightful heir, and not Robb. Her salvation came in the form of Sandor Clegane; no true knight in the eyes of others to be certain, but to her he was more valiant than even Ser Loras.

She tried to hone in on him instead of her brother, to determine where he was or who he was with, but came up blank, as always. Melisandre had taught her that the gifts were different for everyone and unfortunately she was not blessed with the ability to link to her sire... neither one of them. She could sense Robb, however hazily, and could catch splinters of images behind her eyes. Robb, arriving at the Crag. The fool. She was a fool as well, underestimating his feelings for the girl he felt obligated to marry just because he fucked her in a moment of grief over Father. She had never thought Robb as one to give in to fleshy desires but he was just a man after all - just as the Hound had desire for her, yet he has not taken her. He would have, no doubt, had he been allowed, wouldn't he? She was sure he would have on that fateful night, had it not been for Melisandre of Asshai -  
Sansa breathed in - could she truly breathe? - and swallowed the cold night air. It seemed to burn her throat. Nothing like the warm air of King's Landing on that night. That early evening where she had slipped away to the small godswood to seemingly pray -

*******************  
The guards kept a discreet distance as she knelt in front of a stone table, going through the motions to pray but she never did anymore. Especially not now with the defeat of Stannis. The Battle Of Blackwater had been won for the Lannisters and their allies, crushing Sansa's hopes of being saved. If Robb had not seen fit to care perhaps Stannis would. Yet Stannis had lost and here she was, still a prisoner. Still alone. She should have left with Sandor when he asked her to but she had been so frightened. He was powerful, intimidating; hulking and huge and ugly and he had left her with nothing but his cloak. Terror and repulsion faded as soon as he had abandoned her with tear stains on her dress and his scent in her hair where he had touched the strands.  
Now desolation was all that touched her. For a moment she wondered if there was a way to end her life quickly with no pain. No one would truly miss her. She was a stupid girl, a traitor's daughter and hostage of the King to do with as he pleased. There was no end in sight except her own if she so chose -

"Little Bird."

She could hear his gruff voice as if it were floating into her ears with hot breath as it did that night when he ordered her to sing and beg for her life -

Foolish thoughts. He was long gone from King's Landing. A traitor himself now on the run. A deserter. Yet it all seemed so real from a short distance, just behind the bushes and trees -

"Little Bird, I've come back for you."

And the voice had a form, a strong body in a dark green cloak as it approached her and she gasped; her no true knight was truly here, now, in front of her, and her disbelief flooded as the hood fell back and she stared into his face. His unmarred face. His features were strong, chiseled, both of his dark grey eyes staring at her. Nothing missing, no scars. Just a face hardened by time and pain but it was indeed the Hound. Sandor.

Speechless, she dragged her eyes away to furtively glance over at her guards, who were bowing their heads to another cloaked figure.

"Do not worry about them." His tone was rough and she turned back around to a hand - large, calloused, strong - reaching out to her. "You need not worry anymore, Little One."

She looked into his eyes and the grey seemed to spread over the whites of his eyes and she blinked, confused, her body softening as the fear left her. She could not look away from those eyes rimmed in red -

"Take my hand. You will let me carry you away from here and you need never see King's Landing or that little shit again."

So she did. His hand could crush hers but it held firm and fast and he pressed her to him, sweeping her up as if she were nothing. And they raced into nothingness, into a thick fog, until they came upon his steed, the fine black stallion Stranger. She wonders why she is calmly allowing him to hoist her onto his mount in front of him and she allows her back to press into his chest. It is a good feeling and she flushes, remembering her re-imagining the night of the Blackwater Battle where he kisses her. She hears another set of hooves and tries to turn to see but she is held fast and she does not protest.

It is somewhere and some time later which could be moments or hours, she does not know, but it is dark and the moon shines in her eyes intermittently while her hair whips around in the breeze. They are far into a forest and far away from King's Landing where the air is always so stale and still. Stranger snorts and balks as she slides down to the ground down to her knees but she offers up no questions. There is a calm over her which is at odds with her rapidly beating heart as she stares up at her rescuer, her savior. He looms over her, larger than life itself and she wonders dully why he decided to come back for her when she had rejected him. 

"Little Bird," he whispers, and it is oddly gentle as he sheds his cloak to spread it down over the damp grass. She is aware then of the muddied ground and knows she has stained her fine silk dress. Lannister silk. She does not care and wonders why. It is expensive and beautifully crafted and she always cared for pretty things.

Maybe she should ask how he healed his face, maybe she needed to question why he had returned and what he wanted with her, but it all melted away when she felt him take her in his arms to lie her down. He was above her, his body barely grazing hers as he sheds her cloak and she lets him unlace the front of her gown. Excitement courses through her veins as she thinks of her un-kiss, of all her fantasies but then there is nothing more than the thought of how it feels to be in strong arms and something awakens her. It's fire, a fire jolting through her being as his lips kiss hers and it is surprisingly gentle, the Hound is gentle and as soft as she and his mouth is large and wet, guiding hers, parting hers, and her un-kiss is no more. She should protest, she should be afraid of this hulking form above her but he is more man now than beast and her fingers reach up to untie his tunic, tugging it off to expose his broad muscled chest in the moonlight. She had never, ever felt a man's naked chest before and it was powerful, overwhelming and his groan in her mouth singing through her head. His lips left hers to travel to her already arched neck, his hand tight in her hair and she couldn't suppress the whimper escaping her abandoned mouth.

"Let me help you, Little Bird." He was raspy now, breath heavy against her. "No more Lannisters. No more gilded cage for you. I can set you free. No one will hurt you. Not anymore."

"Yes," she whispers, one hand grabbing at his chest, the other balling a fist in his long dark hair. Was she assenting to his offer of help or affirming the pleasure of his lips on her exposed skin? She knew the top of her dress was pushed down and she was bare, chest against chest, her nipples hard and aching as she arched into him. "Please. Please."

"Do not be afraid. You will not be afraid." His head jerked up to stare into her eyes and if she could she would have recoiled from the red circles around his enlarged grey pupils but instead she found them entrancing."You will not be afraid of this."

She nodded, unable to speak, only wanting his mouth to return to that sweet spot on her neck, and it did, oh, it did. Ashamed, she wanted more. She needed his mouth on her breasts and - most shameful - between her legs where all she could feel was an aching dampness. This was so much more fulfilling than her silliest girlish fantasy -

The piercing of something sharp made her cry out; to a passerby it could be mistaken for pleasure and maybe it was, but a pleasure mixed with exquisite pain. She was not scared but it hurt - oh, it hurt - and the feel of something wet and sticky in a steady trickle down her neck into his cloak shocked her... shocked her with the agony and ecstasy of it all and she grappled for his shoulders, meaning to push him away but instead she pulled him in, struggling to kick up her skirts to wrap her legs around him but she was pinned and could not. A hand shot out to cup her face, surprisingly calm, assuring and she boldly kissed into it, enjoying the feel of callouses against her desperate lips, her tongue licking over the rough skin. It tasted like salt and earth and goodness as she stared up at the moon and stars through the fog, her vision clouding, dimming. Her grip loosened and her arms fell down into his cloak and she tried to grasp at the fabric but her hands were numb.

Her whole body seemed to be sinking down, down, down and her breath became shallow yet she gave no thought to struggle, giving herself over completely to the rapture of slipping away, the sounds of her slowing heart deafening in her head intermingled with the grunts muffled into her neck, and it was then she felt him hard against her but there was no trepidation that he would take her even as her body cried out for him to do so -

Suddenly her mouth was covered, warm liquid seeping down her throat as her lips weakly kissed flesh and its molten offering. It stung, burned all the way down and tasted terrible but she was too immobile to fight so she dutifully swallowed it down while lips pressed against her forehead. She could feel Sandor gyrating, moving against her pelvis but he did not push her skirts up or move to part her legs but she would let him, she would, and dimly she wondered why he did not as she slipped away into darkness, hearing her given name uttered from his lips -

She sat up with a jolt, her eyes seeing only the dark and for a moment she panicked until strong hands grasped her from behind, tightening on her shoulders. She was aware of Sandor moving to kneel behind her as her eyes blinked away some of the void to see a shadowy figure approaching, the steps like thunder to her tender ears. Wide-eyed, she could only stare as the entity came into focus; a beautiful red-haired woman with dark red eyes, as ruby as her lips, encased in a red gown and black cloak. The night was cool but the sweat seemed to bleed as the woman knelt in front of her to caress her cheek with a pale, cool hand.

"I am Melisandre of Asshai, child, and I mean you no harm." Her voice was melodic, her eyes hypnotic. "Sansa Stark of House Stark, I give to you the gift of Light."

She watched in fascination as Melisandre opened her own wrist by way of sharp, glistening white teeth and for the second time that night, Sansa drank; this time latching on hungrily, the blood not only burning but soothing even as it lit sparks through her veins. She lost all balance, the vertigo forcing her to fall back against Sandor as the Red Woman stayed with her, giving her more of her essence than Sandor had; it was sweeter, lighter, but more potent until it was yanked away, leaving her in a dizzy euphoria, licking her lips frantically to make sure she missed not a drop. Her head rolled against a strong chest while her arms flailed back to clasp firm ones. Sighs echoing through the night were her own as she met with soft lips, feminine to touch, a perfect contrast to her un-kiss kiss, aware of smooth hands sliding up her skirt, pushing the fabric up to her waist, her small clothes ripped away as her mouth was left wanting while wet pressure met her still-bared breasts. 

Her vision darkened again but she did not need to see... she only needed to feel the perfect helplessness and the divine pleasure and maybe she whispered that she wanted more, begged, whined, and the woman listened, oh, the creature slithered down to spread her legs wide and she felt two long fingers breaching her untried entrance while needle-sharp teeth sank into the tender flesh of her inner thigh, so close to her maiden's place she could feel the hot breath and like a slattern she moaned and shifted, needing that mouth on her center, but she was denied. It mattered not when something erupted inside of her as fingers stuffed inside, seeming to expand as they pushed up, breaking her barrier. It was not the pain she had been told to expect but instead she shrieked out in an obscene pleasure when she was granted her wish and Melisandre's wet, fanged mouth replaced her fingers and sucked, drinking her maiden's blood, piercing her folds. Her whole body shook, shivered, and her breath stopped as she accepted her climax, the sounds of bones breaking crackling in her ears, along with a muttered curse from Sandor, whose hands she had been grasping.

It seemed to last forever yet not long enough as she was acutely aware of long, hard licks cleaning the remainder of her fluids, teeth retracting as she came down from her high but not quite reaching a low. Shame was no longer a part of her as she longed for Sandor to rip her clothes off and take here, right on his cloak and let the dog fuck the wolf in front of this Red Woman and she would howl from it -

The scent of blood and arousal assaulted her senses as soft lips once again found hers. She could taste her own maiden's blood and the secretions of her climax and she found it even better than the fine wines at Joffrey's banquet table. Pain rippled through her as fangs emerged and a hunger sharpened her belly.

"Of course, you are hungry. My poor, starving child. I have nourishment for you."

Within seconds Melisandre had left and returned with one of her guards, hands bound, staring at her blankly. She recognizes him as one of the Kingsguard who had beat her after one of Robb's victories, leaving her with wounds and scars from the hilt of his sword -

In an overwhelming rage she stood, rushed, grabbing the man's neck to pull him down to her level, tearing into his throat. She heard the grunt of approval from Sandor as she drained her abuser of his life -

 

*******************  
Their horses were near dead from exhaustion by the time they arrived but she, Theon, and Asha made short work of the guards at the Crag, compelling them with frightening skill. Here is where she excelled; compulsion was one of the first things she had been taught, along with covering her tracks. She left Theon and Asha to handle the rest while she made her way through the castle, scrunching her nose up at the smell of the shattered, dank structure. Yet through the distractions she could smell him... along with that damn girl. Idiot. Fool, fool, so ready to destroy himself again and for what? He could not love her, especially now.

It was easy to glide up the winding steps to a dark solar with the door shut but it was not so easy to fling the door open and take in the scene in front of her.

Robb was seated on the floor on a bear rug in front of a low fire with Jeyne Westerling limp in his arms. The woman's breasts heaved slowly, indicating life, but Sansa could hear her heartbeat slowing. Robb's fangs were bared and bloodied, one hand pressing into Jeyne's neck wound as he looked up at her in desperation, his eyes two circles of blue rimmed in blood-red. The blue veins in his face protruded but in his vampire mask, Sansa thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen.

"Sansa." It was a plea. "Sansa."

She knew what he was asking without saying it. He wanted to turn his wife into one of them. He was trying to sire Jeyne so that she could be with him for eternity. From the state of undress, no doubt he attempted to slake his desires with her but had gotten no further than a ripped bodice and tousled mousy brown ringlets from her and a shed cloak and half-unbuttoned tunic from him. Something stung her and she tried to push it down but she started to seethe.

Rather than scream or spew hateful words or snap Jeyne's neck, Sansa sauntered over to kneel beside them, reaching out to touch Jeyne's hair, noting the girl's glassy but frozen expression in her doe-brown eyes. Somehow Robb had picked up on the compulsion enough to calm her. The smell of blood sharpened her hunger. Her feeding at the village had been interrupted by Robb's departure and she had not been satiated.

"I know what you need me to to do, brother. I will help you."

Controlling her instincts, Sansa reached over to move Robb's hand away from Jeyne's throat, the blood coating and dripping from his palm. She resisted the urge to lick him clean and instead grabbed his wife by her hair, turning the exposed neck up to him.

"Drink. Drain her first. Completely."

Robb didn't hesitate, sinking his teeth in deep, sucking viciously, his cheeks hollowing. Sansa struggled for restraint. She bit her tongue and clenched onto Jeyne's hair, pulling, hearing the tear of roots from the scalp. The woman's mouth gaped open as if to scream but death claimed her quickly and Sansa brutally pushed Robb away. He stared at her, mouth open, fangs extended dripping blood and bits of torn flesh. 

"She's dead," she informed him coldly, reaching down to clasp her hands over Jeyne's thin neck. "But just to make sure -"

The quick snap felt like a victory to Sansa as she let the lifeless body thump on the rug, the girl's death stare focused on nothing.

"Now...now what?" Robb blanched, looking to her for the next step in the transformation process.

"Nothing. She's dead." 

Sansa gracefully stood and allowed a small smile to ghost her face as she enjoyed Robb's confusion.

"And now what do I do -"

"Nothing. Do you think I'd allow you to turn this little whore? We don't bestow this on just anyone and I'd rip your head off myself before I'd let you do it."

"You - you let me kill her? You let me kill my wife?"

"Yes. With a pleasure you shall never even know."

Realization flooded his face as he bared his still-bloody fangs. The red from perspiration forming on his chest hair. Blood leaked out of his eyes before he snarled and she backed away. 

"Robb, listen to me. Jeyne is not part of the plan and she was a risk. She is your old life, a life that she was never supposed to be a part of in the first place. You are better off -"

She shrieked when he shoved her up against a stone wall facing the four-poster bed. She glanced over at Jeyne's body by the fire behind them to their right but felt nothing but the hands crushing her arms against the cool wall. His anger and frustration transferred into her skin, her being, and a thread of pity intermingled with want.

"Better off? This is better off? Look at me, look at my wife, my queen. I should be dead with her. I'd rather be dead."

"We are meant for something more, Robb. We are meant to seek and deliver vengeance on those who have betrayed us, our House, our Father. All of them. And there's more. There is another kind of war coming, brother, one more brutal and terrifying than men's little game of thrones. We -"

"You are not my sister!" She felt her bones breaking and then reforming as he pressed her harder into the wall. It was a pleasurable pain and she moaned seductively, feeding off of his rage and leaning up into his face to lick his wife's blood from his fangs. It was only a smattering but it was enough to incite her lust and craving and she moved swiftly to his neck, sinking in before he could move away or protest. His blood was molten gold, nearly as sweet as Melisandre's and she did not remember it being so good when she turned him, nor did she recall his moans to be as enticing as they were now but she dug her nails into the flesh of his broad shoulders, shaking from the thrill coursing through her center.

Robb was hard against her and hot hands wasted no time hoisting her skirts up. She wore no small clothes and she heard the tearing of the laces on his breeches before his cock shoved up deep inside of her, prompting her to wrap her long legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass to take him deeper as she drank heavily, viciously. His violent thrusts would have torn her, hurt her had she been a mere human but the fissures healed instantly and were torn again, over and over, making her shudder in delight. Robb. He was hers. Hers to command and bend to her will. Hers for eternity or until she decided to end him. It was a power she didn't hold over anyone else and it was a heady feeling.

His frantic hands tore open her bodice as his mouth found a breast, licking a taut nipple before sinking into the meaty flesh above it. Sharp talons deep, deep inside while a hungry mouth latched wide, tongue pressed against the hardened bud. She cried out in delight, pulling away from his neck to slam her head against the wall, her nails scraping skin from his shoulders.

Her hips met every thrust and she could feel him expanding inside of her, stretching. His was the only cock to fuck deep inside of her well, touching her cervix and rendering her helpless to control it. Greedy, he was so greedy feeding from her when he had drained his delicate little wife mere minutes ago and she laughed in triumph before her orgasm swept over her, taking her into another state of being where the only thing that mattered was him, her, and this shattering climax. Her cries became shouts and his mingled with hers. He tore away from her breast and she felt his release, quick and hard and relentless.

Robb jerked his head up and she looked up into his eyes which were once again blue, the veins disappearing. He looked more like the brother she used to know as his fangs retracted, leaving her blood on his mouth. His neck wound had already healed and she felt her breast recover as well, both of them panting into the stillness of the room. No, they were not tired, they could never tire, but the aftermath was still draining them but of their anger, not their energy. For a brief moment it was just them, Robb and Sansa, brother and sister, children of Winterfell. Robb leaned in for a kiss and she accepted it; something gentle, void of hate and despair and betrayal. 

She licked the blood away as they kissed and he slipped out of her slowly, her legs unwrapping and finding footing on the floor. Her hands slid down and up through his chest hair, nails scraping up to his collar bone as Robb broke their kissing to plant kisses along her cheek, then up to her ear.

"Help me, Sansa," he whispered, his hands caressing her face. "Help me."

She nodded her assent fervently, unable to speak as a trembling hand shoved between her legs, parting her folds to stroke there; his dead wife and his anguish over her already forgotten as his insistent fingers worked Sansa towards another orgasm.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just something that has been rolling around in my tumbleweed of a brain lately. I fully intended it to go beyond a one-shot, but now I have abandoned it and marked it as complete. I am keeping this up just in case.


End file.
